


The Almost Queen

by Ramzes



Series: Days That Never Were [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe to Alternate Universe (I can't believe I'm doing it again!), Angst (lots of it), Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11190102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: The year is 92 AC and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen is given into a marriage that is meant to fortify her rights. Unfortunately, with her father's death, the purpose is lost but the marriage remains. She's still going to be queen. Just not in the way she had expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A comment left under an older fic inspired an AU which in turn inspired this AU. Thanks, Kitty101, you started it all!

"I will not marry a child!" Rhaenys seethed.

"I am sorry but you will," her father said calmly. Rhaenys waited for him to remind her once again that Viserys was just three years her junior, that in the day of their wedding he'd be a man grown but Prince Aemon Targaryen seemed weary of this repeated conversation. He just reached for his goblet and drank as if she were not here at all.

"He will _never_ be a man in my eyes!" Rhaenys said again, almost stomping her foot.

Her father did not react. Instead, he reached for the missive that had arrived from King's Landing and broke the seal. "I'll have ladies who know what suits one to choose the fabric and design for your wedding gown," he said. "I'm afraid this isn't of my competence."

 _Yes_ , Rhaenys thought. _Divesting them of their attire is._ Since her lady mother's death, Dragonstone had become a home to a line of whores – oh highborn ones, no doubt – who stayed for a while and then left. But as angry as she was, she did not say it. That was no way to win her lord father's over.

"I'd rather throw myself in the sea…" she tried again.

"From Meleys' back, or a ship?" Aemon Targaryen asked, mildly interested. And then, in a lower voice to Boremund Baratheon, "Rhaenys got it all wrong. I will not scold her. I will not give her any reason to start bawling."

Rhaenys flushed but made one last attempt. "I cannot bear it anymore…"

How could she convince her father if he would not talk to her?

Why had things taken such a terrible turn? Just a month ago, she had been sure that she'd be happy in just two years or three. Everyone knew that Mirana Velaryon was ill… that she could barely reach her solar… that in a year, two at most, she'd be dead…

 _Lady Mirana is still alive_ , a voice in her head reminded her.

 _But she wouldn't be alive for long!_ her heart replied. In just a few years, the older woman would be dead but it would be too late… She'd be wed to Viserys by then.

It was Corlys Velaryon that she wanted, he has been the only one she had set her eyes upon ever since she had started acquiring curves. It wasn't that she wished ill upon Lady Mirana and by the Seven, she had never wished for his son to die – but he had and Lady Mirana would. Rhaenys was enough of a dragon to take what she wanted without false regrets and pangs of conscience over her thoughts _. It's actions what we leave behind,_ her mother's voice spoke in her mind. "It's him that I want," she whispered as Meleys flew her to the clouds, with the sea turning into a broken grey mirror low beneath and men and women undoubtedly pointing at the familiar sight of her from the island, although she could not see them.

This time, even her uncle was not on her side – and he usually indulged her in all things. He would not hear of it this time, though. "It's your father's call to make," he had said often enough for her not to try and win him to her side now.

"And you like it?"

"No, I don't. But I believe it has its merits."

No, Rhaenys did not wish to have this conversation again.

"Are you sure about this?" Lord Boremund asked late at night, when the castle slept, the sea roared dully and mournfully, the Dragonmount hissed a breath of dark spiral against the sky, and he and the Prince of Dragonstone seemed to be the only souls awake at the dragon island.

"No," Aemon replied, examining the figures engraved on his silver goblet. "But I am even less sure of what would happen one day, after my death. You know as well as I do that many a lord will never accept a woman ruling in her own right. Not without support. And Viserys can be this support. No matter his flaws, he can win people over. People will accept him because he isn't one of them but one who has risen above all others. And he has Balerion."

"A very persuasive means if there ever was one!" Lord Boremund agreed and his laughter boomed. "So you think they have the chance of repeating the success of our current King and Queen, long live they?" he asked, serious again now. "But with Rhaenys in the lead?"

Aemon shrugged. "Even if fools think Viserys is the one controlling his Queen, we know they'll be wrong. And I don't think Rhaenys will be terribly miserable with him."

 _Terribly miserable?_ You bet, Rhaenys thought from her place behind the wall of shelves. She didn't know her cousin very well and what she knew of him, she liked… mostly. But he was not a strong boy and he was not likely to grow into a strong man and Rhaenys detested weakness. No one could please everyone. Viserys was clever enough to know this but he still tried. And he was a _boy_.

"I don't think she will be either," Boremund agreed. "Not that she can see it right now. She wants to be happy and she can't see that with him, that's all."

Aemon's goblet clang against the table. "Happy? It's a fine dream, for sure, but a dream anyway. I don't want my daughter to be unhappy, of course, but I will not tolerate ramblings like personal happiness to stand in the way of her future. Happiness! No doubt she thinks it connected with love," he huffed. "Didn't we all?" He paused. "Jocelyn loved Cedric Celtigar and he loved her back. This did not bring them happiness."

Rhaenys gasped, her hand flying at her mouth.

"Leave the dead to rest," Boremund said after a while.

"I will," Aemon replied. "I need to think of the living now."

So Rhaenys and Viserys were betrothed.

* * *

She wept all night long before the wedding and she expected she'd look terrible but her looking-glass told another story. Tears had made her eyes brighter and bigger and their radiance could be seen under the fine veil. And with the silver lustre of her hair, her pale cheeks only looked fitting.

Viserys took her hand, wrapped her in the cloak, said all the right words. And all the time, Rhaenys thought how ludicrous it was. Everyone knew that one day, she'd be the Queen, so what protection could he offer her? Could he ever be her lord? Did he even have the makings of one, let alone hers? She watched each of the guests cautiously, trying to judge which ones had come for her and which ones had come to witness the Seven-divined order of things restored to its natural place, the future heiress' expectations reined in under a man of her own blood's strong hand. Would Viserys _try_ it?

Corlys was in attendance, of course, with Lady Mirana, and after the royal family, they were the first ones who lined in to offer their congratulations. Rhaenys felt a chill. The hand of her love-never-come-to-be was strong and very warm while Lady Mirana's was as cold as the Stranger's, the poor lady. Rhaenys had not seen her in years and for the first time, she felt guilt over the casual cruelty of her past expectations.

Viserys didn't look at her once.

* * *

There was talk of pirates, of terrible encroaching upon the shores of Westeros even before the wedding – and they had used the very occasion that had gathered the greatest of lords in King's Landing to launch a new series of attack. Rhaenys was furious. How dared they use her wedding for their vile schemes? She was ready to turn Meleys on them but her grandparents insisted on trying mild means first. Viserys agreed with them. Naturally!

"Does anyone believe that they act without the tacit consent of Myr?" she seethed but everyone insisted that they exhaust every other means.

Meanwhile, her marriage was proving not to be as terrible as she had expected. Viserys was far cleverer than she had ever given him credit for and behind the easy way he found himself in other people's sway, there was an earnest desire to make everyone happy. Rhaenys could appreciate it. She simply disagreed with his ways. And despite his inexperience, he had been very gentle with her. She appreciated the fact that he had taken care to get to know what to do, so he wouldn't be left fumbling, with her trying equally clumsily. Despite her longing to be taught the ways of flesh by a certain man she had imagined as her husband, learning together with Viserys was not unpleasant. And he never refused her a joint fly, something that she had not enjoyed since her mother died and her father stopped finding time for such activities. Her certainty that he would not try to take power from her grew daily. Everything was turning out better than she had expected in the days of her betrothal.

Until it suddenly stopped.

She had seen many a raven find their way across the dark sea, to the dragon castle, only briefly deviating in fear when a roar came from the dragon lodgings, and never thought much of it. But last night, she had dreamed of dark and shining eyes on faces without flesh, a ship lurching over great waves without anyone at the helm, and as soon as she saw the bird, she knew.

The journey to King's Landing was the fastest Rhaenys remembered and when she finally dismounted, she felt as hot as Meleys. The pain in her heart had been a constant since she had read the dark words but the ride would clearly cause her moon blood to arrive earlier, so she went to her chambers, saying that she'd see the King later.

When she woke up, darkness was already swallowing the whole city in. Reluctantly, she dragged herself down the halls, everyone bowing and looking away. She hated pity, she did not want sympathy.

In the throne room, the servants were already lighting the candles, starting with the space around the Iron Throne. The rest of the hall was black and Rhaenys dully wondered how her lady grandmother had let this – she would not tolerate slack performance of duty in anyone.

"It's the same thing, Alysanne," her grandfather said as she came close. "Surely you can see the reason behind it. If it did not exist, there would have been no need of the marriage. Rhaenys would have been queen without anyone disputing her ability. You agreed to it."

"Yes, when it was Rhaenys' queenship that was supported. Do you really think I will stand for her being stripped of her rights just because she had the bad luck of losing her father when she was too young? Or have you forgotten that for years, our own lady mother was considered just a conniving woman without great power of mind? It took our father's death for people to see her for who she was! Who else must die for Rhaenys to be given the chance to prove herself? Wasn't our son enough?"

"That's enough, Alysanne!" There was cold fury in her grandfather's voice that Rhaenys had never heard before. "I will not tolerate such words, even from you!"

"Really, Your Grace?" she mocked. "And what are you going to do, if I may ask? Are you going to take my crown as you intend to take Rhaenys' inheritance? Or remove me from your sight? If so, don't bother – I will leave you the moment this monstrosity takes place!"

Rhaenys' breath caught, as if someone had pounded her in the belly. Take away her inheritance? Take it away? Hadn't the whole reason for her wedding been to _prevent_ this?

"Do you not remember the horror we grew up amidst?" Jaehaerys Targaryen demanded and in the now brighter light Rhaenys saw that his face was twisted with rage. "I will not have it repeated when a way can be found without anyone being wronged!"

"Rhaenys isn't anyone," Viserys said for the first time. Until now, Rhaenys had not seen him move at all in his place at the foot of the throne.

For a moment, Jaehaerys hesitated – at least Rhaenys thought it was hesitation but from this far, it could only be her hope speaking. But then, he shook his head. "It will be better for her this way, too," he said. "She's going to be too young and inexperienced in situation demanding a strong man's hand. She's going to live more peacefully. And she will still have the chance to be as influential queen as you," he added looking at his wife.

"She will be even more influential, I think." Her uncle Baelon's voice was ice. Lately, Rhaenys had started disliking him increasingly as she had started liking Viserys increasingly.

"I didn't ask you what you think," his mother said equally coldly. "Your father did, it seems… and kept it a secret from me. Could it be because you both knew what I would say?"

Finally, the King has had enough. "I will hear no more of it," he said angrily. "And I warn both of you, you'd better not go over it at Aemon's funeral because I'll have anyone showing such disrespect being escorted out!"

He was so respectful… while taking her rights away. _But Father died to defend this throne. It isn't fair,_ Rhaenys thought childishly.

"And you will let Rhaenys know of our decision…"

"Is this the royal _we_ I am hearing?" her grandmother cut in. "Because if it is we, as in Jaehaerys and Alysanne, I insist the Alysanne part be taken out!"

"… well before the funeral so she can have the chance to get reconciled with it," Jaehaerys went on, pretending that he had not heard.

"I cannot tell Rhaenys such a thing," Viserys said with determination that Rhaenys had not known he possessed, and it made Rhaenys laugh bitterly when she realized that the King and his warrior of son who was supposed to have the strong man's hand that she lacked were not brave enough to tell to her face how they were going to rob her. At the end, it would fell to Queen Alysanne, it seemed… if not for a servant turning to the direction her laughter had sounded from in the darkness and gasping.

The rest of them were too far away to hear her laughter but they saw him recoil. A torch came near followed by a gasp.

"Rhaenys," her uncle said urgently, "come here. You do not understand…"

"I understand more than you think," she spat and as she turned back so fast that she lost her balance and her head hit the floor, she briefly wondered if someone would at least rush to her, try to prevent her fall. She was now an obstacle. Someone whose death might be welcome. Without her father, she was nothing.

"Rhaenys," Viserys said, fear in his voice as he reached to help her rise. She pushed his hands away, hating him as much as she did his father and their grandfather as unknowingly to them, the blood that had meant to be their first child flowed and fell on the carpet on the path leading to the Iron Throne.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Baelorfan and a_lady, for leaving comments on this AU that has come down such a twisted path that it's a wonder that it's still recognizable!

They didn't tell her, in the beginning. She thought it was just an unusually abundant moon blood dragged earlier than expected by the shock and the hard ride. She ascribed her exhaustion and lack of appetite to those – and the betrayal.

In the first few days, she did not receive anyone. Not that there were many who wanted to call upon her. Those who loved her had stayed behind at Dragonstone. She did not wish to see her aunt Alyssa, by now no doubt the new Princess of Dragonstone. Viserys had come a few times but she had nothing to tell him, giving listless answers and claiming fatigue, hoping that he'd get the hint. He did.

When her grandmother came, they would not talk about what had transpired. Or her father. Or anything, actually. Really, what was there to say? The Queen did not force her to say anything and did not offer awkward comfort. She just held her hand.

Rhaenys could pinpoint the day the news of her disinheritance spread all over the Red Keep – three days after that terrible scene in the throne room, five days after her father's death. _That was quick_ , she thought bitterly. Even if it was not official yet, it was still quick. She feared the day she'd see her uncle Baelon at the third step of the dais where her father had once stood, at her father's place at the evening feasts. A prince had gone, a prince had come. Just like this. In a few years, few would even remember her father's name and this was the way of the world, yet she had not expected of her grandfather to repay the son who had died defending his throne like this so quickly, so easily. And that made this strange weariness even more pronounced.

But she could not stay in her rooms forever. Finally, at the seventh day, she summoned her maids and ordered a bath, taking extra care with her appearance. She would not give anyone the pleasure to see her heartbreak, so she was resplendent when she entered her grandmother's chambers after an endless walk through a palace that no longer knew how to treat her, so she only received scared greetings and averted eyes.

The Queen was not there, though, and Rhaenys thought she'd sit down and wait for her, just a little. But the moment she touched the back of the couch, her head went to her chest and she went back to sleep, to only be awoken from her grandmother's voice from the next chamber. "They say the reason for the loss is the fall, Viserys, the trauma. And she rode very hard indeed. But she's young and healthy, and her body is not damaged. There is no reason to think that she would not have other children."

For a moment, Rhaenys did not know who they were talking about and when she did, she wanted to scream. Now she remembered that her moon blood had not come last month but she had not paid attention. She had thought that there might be a child on the way but she had dismissed this thought because she had thought it was still too early into the marriage. The feeling of guilt and loss was overwhelming.

"I know she will," Viserys was saying. "She was always strong, Rhaenys. But it won't be the same. Nothing will be the same. Even though I did not know about the babe." He paused. "I think she did not know about the babe either."

* * *

The court was waiting, filling the yard before the White Sword Tower to the brim. The pyre was as tall that from the window Rhaenys was standing at, it seemed to reach the apartments of the Lord Commander. From the Dragonpits, there were roars and howls more regular than usually, as if the dragons were mourning with them. "They say Sharyn had flown back to Dragonstone," Alyssa spoke absent-mindedly. "And that she won't be contained. She's mourning him. I can believe this. I remember when Jocelyn died, I…" She cut herself off. "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

 _No_ , Rhaenys thought and the world became a little grimmer yet. At this moment, she loved the dragon more than anything. Sharyn had fought for his rider more faithfully than any of those gathered here, save for his mother. Even she, Rhaenys, had accepted the decision without saying a word.

"Shall we go now?" she asked, proud by the collected sound of her own voice. Not for the world would she show her pain to her family. Her enemies. "It's getting late."

She was the first one to head for the door, the others filing out behind her when they suddenly realized that there was one who had not moved at all. "We shouldn't," the King said in a dull voice. His face was open as if by a lash now and Rhaenys felt uncomfortable looking at him, so undisguised were his emotions. "There was no body to return to us. A funeral without a corpse. What are we going to bury?"

"It's purely symbolic," Alysanne said. "We're honouring him."

But he only shook his head.

"We can't go back now," Rhaenys said briskly because this was getting too overwhelming. She could not believe that she was now feeling pity for her grandfather and she wanted this over with, so she could retreat to her chamber and weep in private. "It's too late. We've gathered everyone of importance within three hundred miles. We cannot cancel it."

Alyssa looked at her as if Rhaenys was the one showing disrespect! Not that Rhaenys cared about her opinion but still! She had no doubt that this was one of the arguments made against her by those who had counseled her grandfather to take the stand he had. _Too harsh. Lacking the gentleness fitting her sex._ Yes, she could almost hear them.

Perhaps at this moment, Jaehaerys I the Conciliator showed the first signs of the decline that would overtake his life some years later. He shook his head again. There was no thought behind his empty eyes and when it returned, his words were rambling and scared. "What if we anger the Seven? What if they take it on him, now that he is with them?"

Rhaenys gaped, horror grasping her. She stared at the old man in front of her and wondered who he was. It occurred to her that he was now trying to delay his clash with reality but how was it possible when he had been acting in view of it all this time? She looked at her grandmother but Alysanne looked as startled as her.

Just a heartbeat later, the King shook his head again. "You're right, of course," he said with his usual voice. "I don't know what had gotten into me. Let's go, it's getting late."

So they went to the pyre that was lit and burned without a body on it, and despite her resolve, Rhaenys wept, proving those who had expressed doubts in a woman's ability to lead due to her susceptibility to emotions right. Viserys reached for her hand and she left it in his. Out of need of comfort? No, her fist remained clenched all the time. It was because she was a Targaryen also, as double-faced as the rest of them and dastardly taking into consideration that every person of meaning in the Seven Kingdoms was watching her. They'd only malign her further if her discord with her lord husband became a matter of common knowledge.

There was no discord, of course. He would never have the courage to confront her openly. He felt guilty for being given leverage over her and no matter how much she repeated to herself that she wasn't fair, that it wasn't his fault, she could not find it in her heart to feel it. Everything reminded her of how much he would have now, how much had been taken from her in his and his father's favour – the splendid ceremony of declaring Baelon the new heir, the way people now sought her aunt's favour over hers, the hush in conversations when people still spoke to her as if they addressed the future ruler before checking themselves… It was too much.

She was a fair woman, though, and she could never blame him for the estrangement. He did what he could to mend things – he was quick to read her thoughts, do small things for her instead of her retinue even if it was unbecoming a Prince. Every night, he came to her solar, suffered through the small, meaningless talk and waited for a sign, a single look.

Without avail.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

"Mirana Velaryon is dead."

Alyssa's utensils rattled on the floor. A servant hurried to offer her new ones but she didn't even seem to notice. Her face turned white.

"This poor girl," Alysanne said softly.

Joy rose in Rhaenys' breast, as quick as fire, before she realized that it was of no use. She was already wed. Lady Mirana's death would have no bearing over her life. Shame came to her when she realized how cruel she was being. The Lady of Driftmark had never been anything but kind and courteous to her… and yet, there was a little anger as well. Two year, just two years! If she had to die, couldn't she have died two years earlier? Then, Rhaenys would have had a husband who would not have been robbing her, no matter how reluctantly.

She felt someone's eyes on her. When she looked up, Viserys stared back without any trace of good feeling, and the first twinge of concern after the dark words had found them at Dragonstone made its way to her heart.

Still, when he spoke to her, his tone was as polite as ever. "I suppose you won't be willing to come to the funeral?"

Rhaenys shook her head, her hand instinctively going to her belly that had barely started growing round. She had yet to feel the babe move and she did not feel connected to it at all – either it or the act that had led to its creation and that she had lost any pleasure in. But she could not put its life at risk. Not by flying. Not by attending a funeral.

"You had known her for years, didn't you?" Viserys asked.

"I grew up with her children," Rhaenys replied after making sure that no one was paying them any attention. She had given the lady enough disrespect already. "Actually, her eldest son was visiting us at Dragonstone when there was a fever at Driftmark. The three younger children all died. She was never the same afterwards. They say she spent one night without a cloak on a rock against the sea. She got a chill that almost took her life and ruined her health."

It was strange how many things she remembered. In the last years, she had been too wrapped in her love and passion for the lady's husband to think that once, she had been a friend of her lady mother's. But when she looked at Alyssa's white face and Baelon's clenched teeth, she remembered something else. Something that her parents had talked about. Once, many years ago, Mirana Bar Emmon had been Princess Alyssa's companion before they both wed. Baelon had desired her and Alyssa had envied her… no, that had come later… and the thought escaped. But as she spoke, her uncomfortable resentment for the dead woman dissipated, leaving just the memories of her childhood.

At the end, Viserys did not attend the funeral either and Rhaenys felt a faint flicker of contentment. With everyone else at Driftmark, they had the Red Keep for themselves and with so few courtiers left, they could happily forsake the evening feasts and take their meals in their chambers. No matter how intolerable intimacy had become – and Viserys had left her alone as soon as her state was ascertained – this new babe had brought them together a little. They now had something to talk about and their conversations easily stretched to dragons, libraries, future journeys to the North… Rhaenys could feel how the affection from their first days revived… Hope sprang, for the first time. What for? She did not know but she felt it was there. And then, the court returned and this estrangement came anew.

Her blessed state was a good enough reason to avoid returning to the happy home of her childhood where she would now be just the goodaughter of its new master. And still, as her babe grew, she started wondering if it couldn't have been better for her to take her chances with her changed status at Dragonstone, instead of watching how, day after day, the King, Septon Barth, and the Small Council took Viserys to train him in what had been her rights while she had to suffer in the practice hall preparing a good and obedient Queen. She had her social graces, of course, but she had never been expected to spend the entire day with other ladies, stewards, and cooks. She had been trained to be king and queen at the same time and she now felt as if she had been cut in half. Meleys was her greatest comfort and although she could not ride her, she made it to the Dragon Pit almost every day just to be close to her.

In the practice yard of the Red Keep she only found disappointment. Sometimes, she wanted to grab the sword from Viserys' hands and show him how it was done! Resentment would overwhelm her at the sight of the _strong male hand_ that was valued more than her own. Was everything blind? How could anyone think that this was the person who was superior to her in every aspect, more capable to protect the Seven Kingdoms with a sword in his hand than she was? Then, anger at her father rose again: after all, this was who Aemon had chosen to be her consort. Her sword hand, so to say. And the distance would stretch anew, and she would weep herself to sleep in her bed because night brought back the sweet memories of the first weeks of her marriage when life had looked as bright as the sun slowly turning the sea into a vast length of pearly silk for such brief a time.

"Do you want to be miserable, child?" her grandmother would ask and she would shake her head but find herself unable to follow the Queen's instructions.

And so, they lived like helpless insects caught in the amber of time.

* * *

Since she became old enough to think of these things, Rhaenys had always expected that her children would be born at Dragonstone; now, the most important lords and ladies in the realm were assembling in King's Landing to welcome her newborn. A son, of course. Everyone expected a son. Her belly was high, so it was a boy, her ladies claimed; her midwives assured her that her lack of health complaints meant that she was carrying a boy possessed of all talents… And no one thought to ask her what she thought. They all believed she was praying for a boy, and she was. Only in a rebel corner of her mind, the thought of a daughter came up again and again and she could not drive away the thought of this most sweet revenge, as much as she told herself that she did not wish for a child of hers to ever suffer the same rejection. And she prayed to the Seven that she would learn to love this child, this son if it was a son because she was terribly scared that she might come to see him as another usurper. She prayed in the sept until her knees could no longer hold her, until her handmaidens had to help her rise.

She was in the sept, praying at the altar of the Mother for a safe delivery, a living child and living mother when she heard the voices. She recognized the male one immediately and blood came to her cheeks. The woman spoke more softly but by Corlys' replies, she could guess what her words were. "No," he was saying. "I am not here to beg the mercy of the Seven for a new union. In fact, I think I'll make at least one more voyage before I consider a new lady for Driftmark."

Soft words, then he again. "No, I don't. I have enough cousins to stay unbothered that my House will perish." A pause. "No. Not yet. My grief for Mirana is too great. Love comes and fades but to have someone waiting for you to return as she spent her life waiting for me – that's a treasure beyond all others."

The woman said something and then shook her head and left. At her turning, Rhaenys saw her profile and recognized her: her aunt Alyssa! _But she used to be in love with him,_ she suddenly realized. _That's what I was trying to remember. Father said that she hoped to wed him once, just as I did, but the King and Queen would not hear of it._ Fear grasped her at realizing how Alyssa had spent her life – in a marriage where the initial fondness had given up under the weight of a life none of the partners had wished. _Is this what will happen to me and Viserys?_ The thought chilled her to the bones, made the babe stop moving mid-kick.

When they left and Rhaenys followed after a while, she noticed the casket he had laid at the gifting table, open and full of rubies.

As soon as she returned to her chambers, she sat down and penned a hasty note inviting Viserys to come and dine with her. If they didn't want to end up like his parents, they'd better start trying to change things as soon as possible. What better moment to draw him back than now? She might have been cold and reluctant but she was the mother of his child. He would this that into account, she reassured herself as she pressed the seal into the hot wax. But the note was returned unopened; startled, Rhaenys realized that they had grown so apart that she had no idea where he might be.

He did not appear for the evening feast. The next day, even the Queen could not tell her where he might be. But a little before dawn as she lay in her bed, dreading the upcoming birth and feeling the uncomfortable pull of her belly, by now having moved down, she heard the bustle in the halls. It was too early for anyone but the servants to be up and she called her handmaiden. The girl entered immediately, although she rarely rose before sunrise to wait for her mistress to leave the realm of exhausted sleep and this sharpened Rhaenys' realization that something was going on.

"What happened?" she asked and gasped when she heard. How could the Black Dread be no more? He had fascinated and terrified her since she was a child. She had thought that he would outlive all of them like he had outlived the Conqueror. He had looked as powerful as ever just last week!

Without giving herself time to think, she ordered the girl to bring her a cloak. It was cold this early into the morning and she could feel it even in her bedchamber which was generously heated. She padded on silent feet that soon froze down the halls, barely looked at by the servants and greeted with a startled bow when they recognized her. She paid them no attention, focused on the pounding of her heart that was threatening to break her chest.

Viserys sat in front of a roaring fire, so close that the merest extending of his hand forward would drive it straight amidst the flames. He looked at her and then turned his head back without saying anything. Tremors ran down his face, his arms, his body. Not sure if she was welcome or not – why would she be? She had rejected him so many times – Rhaenys sat down next to him and placed his hand on her belly, covering it with hers. He did not release it.

They sat like this for a long time. When Rhaenys made to remove her hand, a very slight grip of his fingers stopped her.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented for their support!

A woman with child should not attend funerals, common wisdom claimed. Rhaenys was not sure that applied to dragon ones but she was not ready to find out the hard way and Viserys did not expect her to. Before leaving, he only held his hand against her cheek and then moved it on her belly where the babe, now too big for kicking fully, moved anyway. He startled.

With a quick movement, Rhaenys held in place the hand he was about to draw back. "No," she said, recognizing his fear. "It isn't starting now. Just turning of the head."

"Ah." Viserys relaxed. "How do you know?"

"I don't."

He stayed there with his hand on her belly and the now calm babe, wonder writ on his face in the stark sunlight of the finally drawn curtains. Rhaenys looked at his bowed head and sympathy, tenderness, and regret overcame her. If she had reached out earlier, he would have gotten to know this babe almost as well as she had – and she would not have spent all those nights alone, terrified each time she had to use the privy, fearing that she would see blood on her smallclothes. Only now was she realizing that he had been feeling this same crippling fear all along.

"I must go," Viserys finally said, a long moment later. He didn't want to. Rhaenys nodded.

Awkward hush had settled down the Red Keep and Rhaenys felt it like a cloak of assessment and eagerness as she walked towards the garden for her everyday walk. Her goodmother was there, breathing the scent of the flowers in, and Rhaenys wondered if Alyssa had felt the hungry curiosity as well. It didn't happen every day for the Targaryens to lose one of the symbols of their power. And the loss of this one… She could say what a good number of the courtiers she encountered thought, that the era of Aegon the Conqueror was truly gone, making place for the era of a future king whose reign would be marked by the bad omen of losing the greatest dragon that had ever lived. _Not so fast_ , she thought and felt a shudder of dejectedness when she realized that she had finally made her peace with the truth: her future would not be one of her own making. It would be inextricably bound up with the decisions Viserys made, his triumphs, his failures. Would he ever have any triumphs? She didn't know but she liked not to see people ask themselves the same question. _We're as strong as ever,_ she railed. _We're still dragons._ But of course, she could not say it when no one had doubted it aloud. And she was now just the lady wife. The vessel.

As Balerion's skull was placed at the wall in the throne room, she looked at the double doors waiting for Viserys but he was nowhere to be seen. The first needle of worry tickled her unpleasantly and it only grew when she did not find him in his chambers. She did not know where he could be but the thought of what she might do if she lost Meleys did not let her rest. Without caring what anyone would think of her – controlling or clinging, or whatever they liked, - she sent a few servants to learn where he was. But he was not in the Red Keep and her concern increased, turning to real terror as a sudden storm blew, forcing everyone to rush for cover and howling in the great hall through all the thick walls.

"Do you not know where he is?" Alyssa asked from her place at the dais.

Rhaenys looked at her plate, feeling inexplicably guilty. "No."

"Why should she?" Baelon asked briskly. "She only has one task now and it isn't being Viserys' keeper… or guard."

Despite the brisk tone, there was worry behind his hooded eyes as well and that made Rhaenys' own fear grow. The many eyes following them from beneath the dais did not help. Did people expect that with Balerion's death, they'd all just keel over and die?

"He should have been here," Baelon said when his mother joined them and asked about Viserys.

"That's easy enough for you to say," Rhaenys cut in angrily before she could think better.

For a moment, she could have sworn that she had seen a smile on her uncle's lips before his usual sterm expression returned. Her grandmother did smile and it was such a welcome relief in the gloom reigning in the great hall, as if a great plague had wiped out the families of all people present. Rhaenys actually wondered if everyone thought that the court was in official mourning. The atmosphere certainly reminded her of those terrible first weeks after her father's death. At least then, the grief of many had been deep and true.

The babe was turning its head left and right so vigorously that she had no chance of being left to eat in peace. _You don't want me to eat?_ she thought. _Very well but you should know that then, you'd be hungry, too._ Still, if she wasn't going to eat, what good would it do to stay here? She rose, made her curtsey at the King and Queen and left, followed only by a few pair of eyes. Being an expectant mother meant that no one expected of her to control her emotions, at least.

He was sitting in her solar, in the darkness, so Rhaenys only saw him when the servant maid lit the candles. She startled, gasped. "I am sorry," Viserys said quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," Rhaenys whispered. "I am so happy to see you."

She made a few steps towards him. The servant maid closed the door softly behind her. Viserys rose and came forward as the storm kept blustering.

It was obvious that he had been caught in the storm. He had not bothered to change before coming. The couch was wet where he had seen, as were his clothes. His hair stuck to his face. He looked brokenhearted and vulnerable. "I didn't have a place to go to," he said softly and Rhaenys took his hands, trying to warm them, shock and realization gripping her like a vice. He had many friends, she knew it. But none of them was dragonrider; none of them would understand. He couldn't go to his parents or even Daemon who was possessed of the casual cruelty of happy youth. His own power, his elevated position left him with no one to turn to. Just Rhaenys.

He was chained to her just as she was chained to him, and they were both chained to power, although in a different way than they had expected at the time of their wedding. Strange but this notion no longer made her resentful. Just immensely relieved that it wasn't too late. She opened her arms and he came to her, careful not to press against the babe. Still, she could feel how he melted against her. "Stay with me," she said softly, astonished at the powerful longing for this to come to pass.

He looked up with sudden wariness which sent a sharp jolt in her heart. "Why?" he asked. "Why are you doing this? Why this change all of a sudden?"

Rhaenys hesitated, suddenly uncertain what the answer was. Just last night, she had gone to him with the intention to use the situation as her chance to make things work and yet in those long hours as the sun had been rising, something had changed. Now, her actions stemmed from the heart and not head. Now, under his questioning look, she could find no answer at all. "Come here," she murmured and he took her in his arms.

"I am not planning to claim another dragon, you know," he suddenly said and she smoothed his hair.

"Hush. Don't think about that now."

"I am serious, Rhaenys. I will not change my mind."

Months later, she would wonder if he had been rehearsing for stating the same in front of his father but now, she didn't think twice of it. "Come on," she said after a while. "Let's get these wet clothes off you."

They went to her bedchamber where she helped him get out of those. He nodded at her own attire and Rhaenys hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, before she allowed him to remove her gown. He lifted her shift and for the first time saw her belly. The awe on his face took her aback. Lost in her resentment, she had forgotten just how _young_ he was. A sudden rush of tenderness overcame her as he placed his palm against the child, flesh to flesh. The thought of Corlys came to her mind but the memory had abruptly lost its power over her. He was just a shadow of a wish that she had nurtured for a very long time, fed by its very non-fulfillment. A shadow with his own lost hopes that had never been related to her. It was her and Viserys now.

"That's what I wanted to do when your father died," he said later as in the darkness and warmth that turned Rhaenys' bed into a comfortable nest, she cradled his head.

_I wish you had_ , Rhaenys thought. Only now was she realizing how sweet and comforting giving an embrace was. Her father had believed in making her a man in a woman's body and she was now left to wonder just how soothing being held would have been. _I wish you had dared_. But she knew that had he been bold enough, she would have rejected him, lost in her resentment and ignorance. "It pleases me to do so now," she finally said.

That night, she fell asleep with her back against his chest and his hand cradling her belly, only to wake up to the first faint pains announcing the arrival of her babe, and then it all turned into a whirlwind of pain, fear, and feverish hope that the child was a boy because a daughter would not become an heiress easily, not now, and the most glorious relief in the world when the child slid out of her womb, and anger when even before she was proclaimed healthy enough to leave her chambers, Daemon's betrothal to Aemma was announced…

In the wake of their wedding, three years later, Rhaenys' third child arrived. This one, too, was a girl.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented, it's been a very interesting discussion. Helpful, as well.

"Woe to all of you. With Daemon as King I can't see anything lasting here – except for his whims."

"Well, you won't be here to feel everyone's pain, will you?" Alyssa snapped.

"Indeed," Baelon agreed. "That's the only good thing in the mess she's going to thrust the realm into…"

The couple was having this argument in the very birthing chamber, not realizing that Rhaenys had awoken. She just did not have the will to even raise her eyelashes. She did not have the strength to ouch, even. But she didn't want to complain and weep anyway. Who could she blame? She had given birth only to fulfill a curse that had come to the line of those who had wronged her – and it was her own line as well. She remembered those moments of angry wish for a girl just to disappoint her uncle and goodfather's ambitions for a dynasty of his own, even if it meant that her own blood would never sit the Iron Throne. Had she brought this upon herself? Had the Seven heard her in an evil hour? Had they continued her own rejection in her children? Three daughters, with Daemon having wed Aemma mere days ago.

Later, her grandmother and aunt entered her chamber when no one else was there and it was Alyssa's turn to raise her voice. "Men! Tyrants! What do they know of women's wars? I really wish to see one of them writhе in birthing pains! Does the fault lie with women alone? Never fear, child. You will give birth to a son as well. You're young, you can have ten more children if you wish."

_Then why didn't you,_ Rhaenys wanted to ask but didn't.

Two days later, she woke up burning with the scourge that she had only heard about. Childbed fever. As the next month rolled by, she felt sure that she was dying, she knew that she would never fear death again because they who had accepted death with their terrified heart had, in fact, died, had they not? Again and again, in the fire of her fever, she called for her mother which surprised her. She raged at her father for dying and letting her at the whims of fate and her grandfather. She confessed her onetime hopes and her desperate fears nowadays… She could hear soothing voices, feel cold linens wrapped all over her to break her fever, her grandmother's voice insisting that she opened her eyes, not give up, and still it was Viserys who could soothe her best, his hand relieving this terrible heat that Rhaenys produced and fed with her own body, his soft voice breaking through the pain that burned her day and night, as if she was dying at the stake… She would cling at the star sapphire engraved in a chain of fragile silver for her neck, the unofficial present he had given her the first night after the birth, and then the pain would start anew…

Finally, she rose from her sickbed but it was some time before she left her chambers. And even then, she felt unwell, constantly tired, plagued by headaches and weakness of limbs that she had never known before. The looks men and women at court angered her because now she was unable to retaliate with the only weapon that mattered: a new babe…

"I've been there," her grandmother said one day. "When Aegon died, everyone expected of me to give birth to a new son but instead, Alyssa arrived."

"Why should it matter?" Rhaenys asked angrily. "They do things better in Dorne!"

The Andal law might have been in her favour for years but she was a woman who did not live in a lie. Alyssa, with her cool head, brave heart and soft yet relentless drive would not have made a worse ruler than Rhaenys' father… or Baelon. As much as she hated to admit it, he did admirable job with his new duties. _It's only because he's older_ , she told herself but the drive and hatred that had sustained her for years seemed to have faded and died without her permission and no matter how hard she stirred this perished fire, she could extract no ember from its ashes. _I became what they wanted of me_ , she thought desperately. _A lady wife and nothing else._

Viserys seemed to share some of her sentiments. "Sometimes, I wonder if our way is the best way," he would say thoughtfully. "When there is a girl, expecting a son who does not arrive complicate things. What should one make of their daughter – an heiress, or a model lady wife? And there is no guarantee that things will stay this way, whatever this is."

She would smile at him and take his hand, recognizing that it was the closest thing he could give to acknowledgment for her struggles.

His own struggles were no less intense, though. After Balerion's death, people had starting looking at him even more critically, comparing him to Daemon's swagger and vigorous youth, and roaring dragon. Rhaenys could hardly believe this. Just fifty years after the horror had ended, people were already wishing for another Maegor?

"He must choose a new dragon," Baelon said and even the Queen agreed.

"Why?" Rhaenys asked angrily. "To use them in a war that will likely never come? To sentence them to a life with a rider but without rider all the same? His time for entertainment is increasingly short and he doesn't _want_ another one."

"It isn't about he wants," Baelon snapped. "And he cannot be relied on to understand this, not yet. If I had been allowed to get what I wanted at the time, things would have…"

He cut his words short and shook his head. "Never mind this," he said after a while and smiled at his mother. "That's the problem with children, isn't it? They think they know it all because they have finished growing in body. Mind, though, takes a good number of additional years and the fact that they don't realize it makes it worse."

"I prefer it this way." There were shadows behind Alysanne's eyes. "We were forced to grow up too soon. I would never wish it upon anyone of my blood, no matter how many more years of efforts I need to put on."

Perhaps they were right. Perhaps one day she would also see it this way. But now, she could only see the pressures Viserys had to put up with every day, the fact that he had yet to father a son on her now adding to them. Would a new dragon change things this much? He would still be compared to Daemon. _I can be the dragonrider for both of us_ , Rhaenys thought although she knew it would be a long time before she could even stand the heat of Meleys and go near her.

Day after day, a year rolled by. Little Rhaenyra started walking. Aemma turned sixteen and just a few days later left for the Vale atop Caraxes, Daemon holding her tight. Rhaenys wondered how her cousin could stand being this dependent of anyone. She could never travel atop a dragon if she was not its rider, although she knew that Daemon, of course, would not throw Aemma all the way to the ground or something like this.

"Good luck," she said when she emerged in the courtyard to see how this young, silent cousin of hers who did not look Targaryen at all would leave, headed for her fate. Daemon did not look anywhere this happy. He seemed to have grasped what Rhaenys could have told him in the very beginning: Aemma would be the ruler in the Vale, not he. _He has finally realized that he has wed a woman who is like his own lady mother_ , she thought and smiled, and tried to keep her balance because the world had just spun around her again.

"You too," Aemma said. "I expect to return soon for the celebration on your son's birth," she said in a low voice, paying no attention to Daemon's dark look. _These two would have more troubles than even Viserys and I_ , Rhaenys realized and then the weight of Aemma's expectations crushed her. There was another person now who relied on her for their future.

In different ways, she bore the responsibility for so many people's future. Her lady companions, for once. It was up to her to provide matches for those whose families did not care enough and had just thrown them her way. Or help the families by acquiring men for them to choose from. So she had to attend feasts and tourneys even when she would rather stay in her children's nursery. But there was a new attendant that she would happily do it for. Mirana Bar Emmon. The second Mirana Bar Emmon, the niece of the loveliest among Princess Alyssa's companions. She's even lovelier than her aunt, people said but when Rhaenys saw how her uncle recoiled when he first saw her, she knew that this Mirana was the very image of the first one. _He was in love with her,_ she realized. _He must have been. It wasn't just lust._ But as much as she tried, she could not remember Lady Velaryon as anything other than broken, although she had heard that once, Mirana had been as proud and beautiful as the Maiden. Watching him watch the girl made Rhaenys feel uncomfortable, realizing just how different it was for her. Now, her heart no longer skipped a beat when she saw Corlys. None of the resentment reserved for Lady Mirana had found its way to his new, fertile young wife. _Children think they know it all,_ Baelon had said and while Rhaenys realized it was true for her, she wondered if perhaps he _had_ known.

Ravens and people came from the Vale, words of admiration and praise and while Rhaenys did not envy Aemma her good luck, she was not blind to the irony. Years ago, her little cousin had looked up to her thinking that she was learning from the queen in waiting but now she was more powerful in her own right than Rhaenys. When she gave birth to a son, things would go even more intense. Fortunately, Rhaenys suspected that Aemma was in no hurry, no matter if Daemon knew…

"No," Viserys would say firmly whenever she broached the subject of further children. "Not before you get better."

With the pressure his father and their grandfather put on him, Rhaenys was surprised and grateful by his stance.

Ever so slowly, her recovery took off. She started riding Meleys again. She could spend a day without dozing once. She could carry her children in her arms without being afraid that a sudden bout of weakness would cause her to drop them. And she started trying again. For over a year.

"I will pray for you," the Hand of the King said at his death bed and Rhaenys felt just a faint echo of the resentment that she had greeted every display of concern by him since he had taken stance against her, although she knew what he meant. He would pray for her to have a son – and nothing more. She did not feel insulted because the truth was that a son was all she needed. In a way that she had not expected to repeat, her needs and the realm's needs had become one again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

Sometimes, Rhaenys found it hard to believe that her grandmother was no more. It felt as if the heart of court had gone away. As if a century old oak had crumbled and collapsed, as odd as such a comparison looked when used for a woman who had been as slender as a young girl all her life, had barely raised her voice, had actually never hit a child or servant. Alysanne had carried the stability of court with her and it was always with a pang of shame that Rhaenys thought the reason so not worth it. For her, Gaelle had been kind and loveable but not exciting. Not worth dying of grief over. Of course, Alysanne had seen her with other eyes… but it looked like Baelon had other ideas.

"She should have been married to someone who would have treated her well," he said curtly. "My lady mother should never have kept her at court to keep her company and burden her with the love she could no longer give to those who died. Gael wanted a husband and children and she could have had them, had my mother been less intent on keeping her close."

"On protecting her," Rhaenys corrected, seeing red with anger, and he nodded.

"This as well," he said. "But also keeping her for herself."

There was no accusation in his voice, just sadness, and perhaps that was what made Rhaenys think of the dark corners that lurked in people's minds. For the first time in years, she remembered her love for Corlys and saw it as the selfishness that it had been. She had never cared about what he wanted because she had wanted him this much that she had accepted that what was best for her was the best for him as well, so of course he'd desire it. _Did you love her for herself alone, Grandmother,_ she wondered. _Or is my uncle right and it was your need to love a surviving child as well?_ She wished she had asked the Queen about this but she knew she would have never dared. And her grandmother would not have replied anyway.

When Silverwing flew away, everyone seemed to accept that the Queen was no more and set about rebuilding their lives. The Small Council gathered every day. The guards before Rhaenys' doors changed. The children stopped asking about the Queen who had happily given them her old gowns and face paints. Rhaenys took over her grandmother's charities, surprised at how hard and time-consuming leading them was. From time to time, the ungrateful thought that perhaps Queen Alysanne should have given the rest of the women in the family part of her responsibilities so they could learn every day and not have it all coming down on their shoulders at once when she was no more.

"Grandmother was a very active woman," Viserys said one evening as he rubbed her shoulders after a day spent bent over documents for this project or that charity. "But this had a downside as well. She never had the patience to teach someone to do her duties when she could have done the job better and faster herself."

"She let me watch," Rhaenys protested.

"Yes," her husband agreed. "But watching isn't the same as letting someone do things _with_ you, no matter how slow and awkward they are in the beginning. Eventually, they will learn."

Now, Rhaenys had better idea of how Viserys must be feeling, constantly compared to her father and Daemon and always coming up the loser. The fact that Alyssa was struggling in a way that was quite similar was precious little comfort and when her aunt left back for Dragonstone, Rhaenys barely noticed the increase in her overwhelming duties. How had Queen Alysanne managed? At least she had the small comfort that unlike Viserys, her inadequacies weren't visible to everyone or even discussed by most. What mattered to the court, the capital, the realm was that Rhaenys gave birth to the heir who would not come.

"Never fear," the King reassured her. "When the moment comes, everything will be as it should. We'll take care to find you the best spouse, as young and strong as a bull."

Rhaenys' jaw dropped and she stared at him, the horrified realization slowly pushing its way through her unwilling mind: he did not know which time it was. To him, she was still unwed. Perhaps even the heiress. Perhaps her father was still alive.

"What are we going to do?" she asked desperately after a feast where her grandfather had demanded that Alysanne came immediately because she had not warned that she'd be absent. "As far as I know, there is no cure for such a thing."

"There isn't," the Grand Maester confirmed without being asked.

They had gathered in the Tower of the Hand like a bunch of traitors. The lamps lit pale faces, eyes full of fear, hands gripping the table or clasped in front of the body. Discouragement hung in the air, tainting it with its poisonous breath. Finally, Baelon asked, "Can you give him something that would mask the symptoms when he has to make appearances?"

Rhaenys gasped at the cool composure with which he discussed keeping his own father, their King, in something like an arrest. But in fact, there weren't that many places where the Old King wished to go any more, were there? He usually walked around the Queen's Garden, waiting for Alysanne to appear from behind a bush, or the hall of the Small Council where, as Viserys told her, it was painful to watch him struggle to understand and connect the narrowing world that he lived in with the incredibly, to him, sounding events the members of the Council discussed. All of them knew how he was. No, these places were safe, unlike the great hall or receiving foreign envoys or delegation of different guilds.

"Well?" Baelon demanded when the Grand Maester made no attempt to reply.

"No," the man finally said. "I can't, Your Grace. The only herbs I can give him will dull his mind even more and make him half-asleep all the time."

That was what all of them had expected, yet to hear it confirmed made them shudder. Without even looking at the rest of them, Rhaenys knew that they would never accept such a method. _Let him dwell in his increasingly narrow world and the time he can live in,_ she thought. _We can manage._ So she ground her teeth and smiled charmingly, pretending not to notice when the sad wonder of those who had no seen the King in a few years became painfully obvious. At the high table, only those who already knew were invited but still, the truth could not be contained. She took comfort in the knowledge that her grandfather did not know what people thought and talked about him. It was bad enough that she knew what people talked about her and her children. Female, all of them. Not enough.

"I wish he had chosen otherwise," Baelon once said and Rhaenys didn't bother to contain her bitter laughter. She believed him. Now that he had tasted what should have belonged to her father, he no longer wanted it. But the crown was not a leather ball to be thrown this way and that at a whim.

Even Baelon did not want to give Daemon any chance to claim the Iron Throne while a child of Rhaenys and Viserys still lived, yet claiming it he would, if she knew him at all.

Once, Rhaenys thought she might have conceived again but it turned out to be a false hope. And when Viserys left for the Vale of Arryn for two months, she realized that she could no longer rely on her moon blood as any indicator – it had become distressingly irregular to appear. Her hopes to start the new century with a new child, a male heir were to remain unfulfilled.

On the outside, everything was in working order. The Red Keep functioned like a well-oiled wheel; the Small Council that Jaehaerys had chosen when he had been in his might was proving his trust justified. And yet Rhaenys slowly started noticing some unexplained tension between Baelon and Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King and the Master of Laws. Cross words. Deliberate snubbing on Baelon's part. Caustic remarks about Ser Otto too huge family and how good it was that he had a good office, else how would he have provided for them? Viserys told her that at the meetings of the Small Council, it was no different.

"The only thing that saves Ser Otto for now is his wit," he said. "He performs his duties admirably and my father can find no reason to send him packing."

"But why does he want such a thing at all?" Rhaenys wondered. 'The man _is_ good at his job and his daughter is a great companion for Grandfather."

"I have no idea."

Rhaenys did not dare ask Baelon because she had a good idea about the kind of reply she would get: that she should focus on things that were more important. What there things were, there was no need to say.

One day, the King wished to ride Vermithor again. He made it almost to the outer gates without anyone daring to stop him before Rhaenys could be found. She rushed there immediately and Alicent Hightower looked at her with relief, having just been shook off Jaehaerys' sleeve. Unfortunately, one of the things he had not forgotten was his obstinacy – when he chose to apply it. Seeing Rhaenys, the guards readily decided that her orders would do.

"He's dangerous for himself," she said desperately.

"Not if I leave orders that could restrain him when needed," Baelon replied. "I was reticent to do it before but I was clearly wrong. What is dangerous," he added, "is Ser Otto's girl."

Rhaenys blinked, confused. But when that night in the great hall everyone clustered about the Hightower girl – a mere child in Rhaenys' eyes still! – and started commiserating over the bruises on her hands that were in no way left by someone as feeble as the King, she suddenly understood. It was a queen that the clever man from the Reach was preparing. A queen, a gentle caregiver, and a heroine. A second queen because the first one was as incompetent as to only give birth to girls. Even a glorified mistress would be a huge improvement over the girl's current status and non-existing wealth.

"No," Rhaenys said softly, eyes flashing. "Not as long as I live."

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and sorry for being so late. Perhaps I need to reconsider this writing on inspiration, no elaborate plans in advance thing but I really don’t know how else I could write.

“Dorne’s law isn’t this bad,” Alyssa said thoughtfully and Rhaenys looked at her, trying to glimpse the thoughts under her aunt’s still smooth forehead. Alyssa’s smile was polite and non-revealing and Rhaenys tried to imagine a court under Queen regnant Alyssa. It was a vague but certainly appealing image. 

Have you written me off, she wondered angrily in a moment. Do you believe I’ll never conceive again and if I do, it’s going to be a girl again? Do you prefer the Hightower girl who is said to embody everything a lady wife should be, the same as you? Does your son? Of course, she knew that Viserys likely did not even know the name of Ser Otto’s daughter and still… 

Competing with a girl was beneath her, yet Rhaenys could see where Alicent bested her. No matter how compassionate she felt towards her grandfather, she could not sit with him for hours and keep him company, keep the conversation jumping from one topic to another going and pretend that it made sense. She did not even have the time. And it pained her. She did not know if Alicent minded – she likely did, for what girl would like such a life? – but it truly did not matter. What mattered was the reputation of all feminine virtues the girl had being built around her. 

“If I were you, I’d chase her around the Red Keep and take Meleys’ whip to her,” Aemma commented, not bothering to acknowledge Alicent’s curtsey as the two of them left their grandfather’s bedchamber.

Rhaenys gave her a sharp look, lifting her skirts a little higher to avoid them getting wet on the recently washed floors. “Why? Have you heard something?” Aemma had spent at King’s Landing less than a week. Surely things could not have gotten this bad as to reach her ears so soon? “Has Viserys…”

“No,” Aemma said immediately. “I haven’t heard anything about this. But I can see her attempts to look even more caring and attentive to Grandfather when Viserys is near. I really can’t understand your patience, Rhaenys. Does it matter whether he welcomes her attempts or no? It’s still your husband that she’s reaching for… and I daresay it isn’t just the position of a mistress that she’s aiming for.”

“No,” Rhaenys said bitterly, “I expect that you won’t understand, my lady of the Vale.”

The old wound had just reopened. She had started loving Viserys in a way that left no room for her onetime dreams of Corlys. The thought of losing his affections to another was enough to make her wish to release Meleys on someone! Like he would have been fully expected and applauded to do if someone had made a grab for her. Of course, it was different for men but one would have thought twice before thrusting their daughter on the Queen’s consort!

She looked at Aemma with interest. “Do you drive Daemon’s ladies away? I suppose he has his ladies?”

Aemma shrugged, looking more mature than her eighteen years. “Only the ones trying to seduce him. It would be unfair to punish the ones he pursues.”

“I wouldn’t have made the distinction,” Rhaenys said, surprising herself. She had lost a crown to her husband. She would not give up on any part of this husband. She was done being deprived… or would have been if…

Outside the chambers of candles, whispers, illness, and troubled memory, a cold spring had summoned the first petals bloom. Rhaenys and Aemma looked at the moat and smiled when they saw the tiny white flowers winding their way between the rusty spears. No matter how meticulously the moat was cleared every year, the flowers always found a way to return. 

The two young women went past the Kingsguard at the end of the drawbridge and Aemma smiled at him. Ser Steffon inclined his head, unable to bow while on duty. “He’s in love with you,” Aemma said. “He’s been for years.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “Nonsense,” she said but she had the sudden feeling that her cousin might be right. Certain gestures and expressions made sense now. Steffon Darklyn had been squire to her father once and he had always been eager to do things for her, followed her around to the point of annoying her… much like she had followed Corlys, she supposed. Another man once close to her, whom she had never truly seen, too wrapped in her adoration for her secret idol.

She looked at her cousin, stunned. Just two years ago, Aemma had been a child who knew nothing of life. Now, she looked much more secure and knowledgeable. 

Aemma looked around to make sure they were alone. “It seems to me that you have given up already,” she said. 

“I trust Viserys,” Rhaenys said coolly.

Aemma was not deterred. “It’s a good thing but can you trust Ser Otto Hightower?” she asked. “Or any of the men who think Viserys and Daemon would have done better job ruling the realm and the Vale just because they’re men? Are you ready to take the risk of Alicent succeeding and Viserys fathering a son on her – a son who others might insist to wed your Alysanne?”

Even Aemma could not imagine the full extent of Rhaenys’ fears – that Alicent was being prepared not for a mistress favoured over the queen but a second queen.

“It won’t happen, child,” Alyssa said calmly when Rhaenys finally confided this fear to her. “Not while Baelon and I live. Unfortunately, your grandfather seems too dependent on her right now, thinking that she’s Saera, but rest assured. There will be no second queen. And Viserys isn’t interested in a mistress.”

Rhaenys wished she could believe this but the more the pressure on Viserys increased, the more distant he became. His constant striving to please everyone was tiring because there were so many more people to be pleased every day! Especially now, when the great tournament marking their grandfather’s fifty-third anniversary at the Iron Throne appeared. Could it be that he needed someone less intense, someone so close to being his equal, someone who had not been brought up as his superior? She could not say that the strange fire between Aemma and Daemon appealed to her but being like Alyssa, looking the other way when her husband sought his pleasures on the side was not an option either.

“This is good because he won’t have one,” she said determinedly but how she was going to achieve it, she had no idea. Preventing one’s husband from taking a mistress was not something that her septa had taught her, to Rhaenys’ regret because she thought it belonged to the womanly arts.

Her moon blood came the night before the festivities began and for the first time, she wept over her failure. In a few days, everyone would see her failure. Her daughters, as pretty as any girl could be, with no brother standing next to them. She wept again when she saw her grandfather being carried out of his litter and into the royal box where he sat, blinking in confusion at the field, the cheering crowd, the many banners. He had no idea where he was.

“What an interesting choice of tapestries,” Baelon said softly and Rhaenys looked around, anger flaring quick and fierce when she recognized the old images she had only seen in old rooms underground. Aegon the Conqueror and his two wives. Rhaenys could not remember anyone saying Queen Visenya’s name in any official capacity. Everyone pretended that she and Maegor had never existed; if her grandfather had been in his might, no one would have dared bring this out. Rhaenys’ eyes rested on Ser Otto who bowed with ostensible respect.

“Should we go to the royal box now?” Alyssa asked. “I think we’ve lingered long enough here.”

With feeling of deep contentment, Rhaenys turned her back to the Small Council and their families and followed her goodmother, her hand in the crook of Viserys’ arm. You’d better get used to it, Ser Otto and Lady Alicent, she thought. You’ll only see things obscured by my back, forever.

“What was this?” Viserys murmured as he led Rhaenys up to the box. “What kind of fool would put such a thing on display?”

Rhaenys gave him a look of careful consideration. He returned it, slightly baffled. He truly did not know. Rhaenys smiled.

“A great fool indeed,” Baelon said dryly.

“Who are you?” the King demanded. “Who let you in?”

At such moments, Rhaenys could see the remnants of a onetime steely will trying to make their escape through the shattered mind of the old man. These moments were even worse than the ones when he wandered about, as helpless as a child, and asked everyone he met where Alysanne was. Viserys gave her hand a squeeze. “When we get through this, there will be no need to bring him to the feast tonight,” he said.

“I’ll let him know of Daemon’s win,” Aemma put in and their grandfather smiled, as if he understood. Alyssa used the moment to clasp back the cloak with the three-headed dragon because he felt hot, despite the day being quite wintry. He did not notice.

Rhaenys gave Aemma a close look. There was proprietary pride in Aemma’s voice – and no doubt at all that Daemon would win. So, today she liked him. Rhaenys could never understand their life of coming and withdrawing tides – her own handmaidens had whispered about a great marital scandal in their chambers last night and the rumour had it that two glasses had been broken and a silver goblet, dented. But she had quickly realized that Aemma had been born to rule and Daemon, to defy anyone ruling over him and when Daemon defeated Ser Ryam Redwyne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, in the last tilt and rode towards the stands, all swagger and victorious smile, Rhaenys suddenly had the most terrible feeling.

He isn’t going to crown her.

It was ridiculous, of course. Every man crowned his wife. And even if Daemon decided to follow his own judgment, Aemma was beautiful enough. 

But they had quarreled last night.

A senile king, no male line beyond Baelon and Viserys himself, and Daemon determined to publicly deride all rules. Their House would become the laughingstock of the entire realm.

Daemon’s reputation as an unthinking fool would be confirmed.

The pressure on them to produce a son would intensify, even more now when the difference between Viserys and his martial brother had been just marked again.

And if she failed this time as well…

All these thoughts raced through her head as her grandfather was expressing his approval and actually looking as if he knew who Daemon was, in rhythm with the thumping of her heart and the roar of the crowd applauding their victor. And hers was not the only head… Aemma had gone slightly white while Baelon’s hands had balled in fists. “He wouldn’t dare…” he started angrily, then got himself under control and fell silent.

Slowly, Daemon approached the royal box and with casual grace, rose in his stirrups, and placed the wreath of white roses on Aemma’s bent head. His eyes were shining with mirth and Rhaenys realized that he was relishing his little moment of revenge.

What awaited them if she did not conceive soon? Even if Viserys kept faith with her, would it be worth it if they dwelled in the shadow of Daemon’s whims?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

What was this legend of the lovely maid who had descended to the hearth of the seventh hell, the lowest of all, to look for her lost love? Or was it the heart of the ocean? Rhaenys was sure that she had heard it from the old fishermen at Dragonstone when she had been able to escape to their village and sit at their fires. But she could not remember the details. There was this iron door that would not unlock, the river that threatened to swallow her, the thorn-bushes that almost took her hair off… Nature had done her worst to raise a wall between the maid and her heart's desire.

Stench was not mentioned anywhere but at the time she reached the small pokey house in Flea Bottom, Rhaenys was sure that this had been a pitiful omission. Or perhaps the legend had been said and written before her great-grandfather had built King's Landing? No one could have imagined a stench worse than this. A true element of nature.

The first thing the old woman did upon ushering Rhaenys and her maidservant in was offer them some water. Rhaenys splashed her face and started taking deep breaths through the tiny window opening towards a small, clean-smelling garden.

"Better now, m'lady?" the woman asked through the few teeth she still had in her mouth. Her voice was professional, she was used to her visitors reaching her house almost sick by the smell.

"Yes," Rhaenys said, keeping her head bowed low, although it was hardly likely for anyone here to recognize her. "I hope there aren't any other people in the house?"

"My old man is here, but he knows to stay in our room," the wise-woman replied. Rhaenys had not expected any other answer – she had paid handsomely to this effect. "Sit down, m'lady, and tell me what brings you here."

Rhaenys gingerly sat down. The chair looked steady enough but she did not know what people had come here today and how healthy they were. "A few years ago, I gave birth to my youngest daughter," she said. "I want to conceive a son, yet I cannot conceive at all now…"

The tallow candle threw yellow lights across the woman's face, making the shadowed parts look like dark bruises. "Have you had your moon blood regularly?"

"Yes, I have."

The wise-woman nodded. "Lie down, then, m'lady."

Rhaenys did and ground her teeth to suffer this touching and probing of her belly, big hard hands squashing and digging into her flesh, and she clenched her lips to keep her dinner in. She felt violated, tainted, although she had come here with the full knowledge of what was about to take place and the hands, the woman herself, the very room were very clear, just shabby.

"I can't see any reason for you not to birth yet another," the wisewoman finally declared. "Perhaps you're a bit pale, your blood a little weakened but all this should not be an obstacle if you truly wish it."

Was this a hint that Rhaenys did not truly want to have another child? Laughter bubbled in her as the worry that she might have been recognized was left to rest. If this woman had any idea who Rhaenys was, she'd know that Rhaenys would go to hell and back for this child…

"I'll give you something to drink every night before going to bed, my lady. It would be better if I rub your belly with an ointment but I know you won't agree."

Rhaenys wondered if her feelings were so blatantly obvious. She glanced a the woman's big, strong hands and shivered. "Later. I'll try with the drink first. If it doesn't help…"

As she rose, one of the candles flickered and died. Shadows danced against the walls and when the wise-woman went to light another candle, the tiny flame brought Rhaenys' eye to a flickering. A twinkle. A sapphire ring that she recognized – she had seen it on young Alyssa Arryn's hand just yesterday…

"Where did you take this from?" she asked casually but the woman stiffened.

"I didn't steal it, my lady," she said. "It was given to me by another guest."

Rhaenys slowly nodded. Another guest. Yes.

She put some money on the table and something in her face made the wise-woman not argue the price. Rhaenys' money was more than enough anyway. She put the ring on her own finger, glad that she was the one who had first seen and recognized it – at least she hoped she was the first! Aemma was her ally but the Dowager Lady Arryn and her daughter, Aemma's half-sister, held quite influence in the Vale and even at court in their own right. She did not want any rumours attached to Alyssa Arryn and certainly none that she could not control. What things she had to concern herself with when all she wanted was to focus on getting with child!

What had Alyssa done anyway? Morbid curiosity plagued her. The girl was just fourteen. But she could not ask Aemma. Aemma would never say. With these questions temporarily helping her keep the revulsion from the house and the hands away, she was back to the Red Keep before she knew it.

"Mama!" the girls squealed when she entered the nursery and she had to remind herself that she had just washed herself thoroughly. She would not taint them.

What wouldn't she do for this son for herself and the realm! Once again, the old resentment grew with strength that startled her: if she had not been displaced, it would not have mattered. Her daughters would have been her successors. And both she and Viserys would not lose each other constantly, swallowed in duties that did not come naturally to any of them when each had been prepared for the opposite.

"Did you have to tell Lord Blackwood that you'd take his side against Lord Bracken without hearing out both sides?" she asked wearily when they entered her bedchamber after the feast. "And why didn't you tell _me_?"

"Because I knew how you'd react," Viserys replied. "He was too insistent. Are you pleased now? He wearied me down. And his arguments… seemed right at the time."

Rhaenys bit back her irritation. His inability to say _no_ was grating on her nerves. There was no way that he'd be able to please everyone and taking the side of the one who had managed to see him first was no way to do. Not for a future king anyway. Sadness washed over her as she realized that the trait that she had come to love about him – his wish to keep people happy – was turning into the greatest obstacle on their way.

As per their custom, Viserys came behind her and started taking the combs out of her hair. His hands were uncharacteristically cold and unpleasant to the touch, reminding her of the wise-woman's palms, his fingers clumsy. He did not lie down next to her but left as soon as she was settled in bed; with rising despair, she remembered the days after each of their children's births, when he had come to her bed to just sleep next to her. Now, their sharing the same space at night had started turning more and more into a duty and happened on purpose. With their grandmother's death and their grandfather's descent into senility, they were growing more and more apart. Rhaenys sighed and took some letters to read in bed. She would have to invite the governors of two of her grandmother's charities back because just yesterday, she had been so sharp with their long-winded words that she had made them stutter and forget what they had to say, rendering the entire mission needless. Viserys would have fared better, even with just listening to _what_ they had to say and not _how_ they said it, so strong was his desire to always be kind. Warmth stole in her hearth and she looked at the door with hope but he did not come back.

Very well, she would give him some time to get over their last altercation and then, she would go to him. In preparation, she rose from bed and pulled a robe on before returning to her parchments.

When she left her chambers, the moon was high in the sky, pale and full – she could see it between the columns of the open gallery joining her chambers to Viserys'. The guards stationed at the entrance removed themselves and as Rhaenys' entered, she heard a hound's howl from the general direction of the stables. _It sounds like a wolf's_ , she thought and a shudder ran through her. The feeling only increased when in Viserys' bedchamber, she did not find anyone. His study was also dark. Was he with another woman? Jealousy burned all the way through her core even before the poisonous thought rushed to her mind: could he be with this young but far from stupid Alicent Hightower? The girl was so very good at telling Rhaenys' grandfather what he wanted to hear; how long would it take her to make herself preferable company to Viserys' shrew of a wife?

She did not want to wait for him in his bedchamber, she'd never humble her pride like this. But as she crossed back the gallery, the unusual movement of men and women down in the courtyard made her look longer. And then, her eyes automatically went up to the sole chamber being brightly lit. Aemma's. Against the curtain, silhouettes rushed and leaned, and rose in a flurry of activity. Frowning, Rhaenys headed over to investigate and she would have, had the Arryn guards not stopped her at the entrance. "Who do you think you are?" Rhaenys asked in disbelief. "Do you know in whose castle you are?"

They did not care. The would-be-queen was forced to stay there and argue until a gasp from behind made her turn. Lady Verena, Aemma's stepmother, was staring at her aghast.

"What's going on?" Rhaenys demanded. "Why am I being forbidden from entering? What are they _doing_ there?"

Her relief was immense because in the beginning, she had thought that it was Daemon doing… something to Aemma.

Lady Verena considered, then nodded at the men and they parted for both of them.

"She's losing her babe," the dowager said in a voice that was lower than whisper.

"Who?" Rhaenys asked. "Alyssa?" She felt sick. The girl was fourteen!

Alyssa Arryn's mother shook her head and Rhaenys' heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Aemma was lying in her bed as pale as the moon, her eyes closed. "Light hurts my eyes but they want to be able to see," she said faintly. Rhaenys noticed the wide shallow pot that had been placed under her cousin's hips, to collect the blood, no doubt.

"So, it was you," she breathed. Aemma had been the one who had been the client of the wise-woman before her. Alyssa had probably just added her ring to the payment, having been unwise enough to wear it in clear sight, so the woman had seen and desired it. "Why? Why, Aemma? I know you didn't want to have a babe just yet but…"

"Don't question her now," Alyssa said sharply from her place at her sister's bedside. "She's too weak."

"I'm not," Aemma whispered and a tear ran down her cheek. "It's true, I didn't want a babe… but I wanted it, once I knew about it."

"What then?" Rhaenys asked. She truly did not understand.

"I'd been taking moon tea all the time, Rhaenys!" Aemma exclaimed and almost rose to her elbow in her agitation. Lady Verena hurried to push her back. The movements had stirred the pot and Rhaenys could hear the splashing and sloshing inside. Blood. The memory of the blood pouring down her legs before the Iron Throne, so many years ago, overcame her, the pain licking at her thighs again with strength undiminished by time.

Aemma went on, unsuspecting, "There is a great chance that my babe will be… unhealthy. I couldn't take the risk."

Tears were now burning trails into her ashen cheeks.

"Oh." Rhaenys said. "Oh!"

"If Daemon gets to know, he's going to kill me," Aemma breathed. "He's been reluctant to act on his suspicions that I take moon tea but if he hears that I've killed his babe, he will…" She paused. "He wants a son so much," she finally said and her voice shook. "And I think… I think I wanted this, too."

Silently, Rhaenys took her hand and sat next to the bed, staying there until two of the women who had been brought from outside of Aemma's chambers came close, their face white with dread, and moved Aemma so they could tug out the pot from under her. Although Rhaenys was quick to look away, she heard the sloshing, much quieter than before, and as understanding came to her what this meant – that the pot was way too full, - she looked at Aemma. White as parchment, her cousin had closed her eyes and seemed to not be breathing but in the short period between one woman going away from the bed and another one coming with a new pot, Rhaenys saw the pool that poured out from between Aemma's legs. In the candlelight, it looked as black as death. Lady Verena quickly stopped Aemma from looking down.

This night of worry passed so agonizingly slowly. Only when dawn was near did the bleeding lessen and Aemma went to sleep that was ta true sleep and not falling into unconsciousness. Rhaenys rose to leave.

At the door, Lady Verena stopped her. "Just in case you're interested," she said quickly, "in a few weeks Ser Otto Hightower will be dismissed. As soon as Prince Baelon returns…"

Rhaenys realized that she was not the only one who knew of other people's visits to wise-women. But her anger rose nonetheless because it was like a slap to her face, to be told that others knew about her fears. And this from a woman who had only managed to carry one living child! Still, curiosity almost overtook her. How had this woman, a scion of a lesser House, secretly despised for her failures in providing an heir, a widow, not even the mother of the Lady of the Vale, a woman who only visited court every few years, have this many connections? By nourishing them, of course. Rhaenys, ever impatient and not always careful enough with her words, could never do it. The life of a consort did not suit her. She had long been taught only to be queen. But there was something in Lady Verena's ways, and also Viserys' way to win people over. Something appealing and a little sad, and admirable. Something that was just out of her reach.

To her surprise, she found her lord husband in her own bed. At her entrance, he stirred and opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Rhaenys said.

"I wasn't sleeping anyway." His voice was hoarse, soaked in weariness.

"Why not?" she asked and then remembered that she was angry with him. "Where have you _been_?" she asked and cringed. She had done it again. Demanding, instead of asking. Plaguing him with her disapproval and muttering. But this time, he did not seem to notice it.

"Rhaenys, I was just strolling in the yards, that's all. I wasn't… somewhere else."

She blushed but did not say a thing.

"I was just walking until the raven arrived. With this."

He gave her the note with a hand that was barely shaking. Rhaenys' eyes ran over the lines and went wide. The letter bore the seal of Dragonstone and the words just leaped out of the lines. _A hunt… a stitch… a burst belly…_

_So the hour has come,_ Rhaenys thought, her first thought about the two of them _. Now, Viserys is the king-in-waiting and I, the Queen who has not given him a son._ But then, she looked at Viserys and the blank look in his eyes made her ache inside. She quickly let the robe slip from her shoulders, climbed in bed, and drew him close, feeling, rather than hearing, his sigh as he buried his face in her hair, and in this moment, just for a while in this darkest hour of night that preceded the unfurling of dawn, away from all prying eyes, all expectations and disappointments they had of each other, they were no longer prince and princess. Just him and her.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Her grandfather took the news in stride. He nodded, seemingly understanding everything that they were telling him, and his next words only confirmed it. “Dead? Of course he’s dead,” he said, waving an impatient hand. “They all do, at the end, and it broke Alysanne’s heart over and over.”

Rhaenys looked up, utterly startled to realize that Jaehaerys did not speak of his wife in the past tense. Had he started making some miraculous recovery? She looked at the maesters who waited nearby just in case, and knew that they had no idea either.

“They all leave,” the Old King went on, rather annoyed. “And they never return. Only you did, Saera,” he added, looking at Alicent Hightower with adoration that turned Rhaenys’ stomach. She had never seen him look at anyone this way before, even her grandmother.

The crisis started almost immediately. Little shakes. Rapid breathing and even more rapid blinking, as he was trying to force his mind to focus. His arms started flailing around as the realization of his failure reached his mind on who knew what cruel paths. As the first tears made their way, Rhaenys desperately wished that someone else had undertaken the burden of telling him. But who? Alyssa was far away at Dragonstone and Viserys was in no state to do this. Daemon’s likely state was inebriated in a brothel. In the bed of a brothel. Rhaenys had finally being trusted with an obligation of a queen – one that she could gladly go without!

The maesters flocked to the bed and she drew back because she did not want to block their path. None of them noticed, though. Whenever they needed permission or help to do something, they only looked at Alicent. Just like many would only look at her father from now on, for Viserys was too young, not brought up for this, untried while Rhaenys was no one. Just the wife.

 

 

The needles in Aemma’s hands flashed as sharp as blades and just as white in the sunlight as she sat with her face to the window so she could see better. Sprawled on the carpet at her feet, Alyssa was stroking one of the palace kittens which she had quickly taken to be her pet without saying anything. The only sound in the solar was the purr of the kitten. Until Rhaenys’ girls came in and seeing it, rushed to it with excited shouts.

“Be quiet,” Rhaenys admonished, looking up from the map of the Summer Islands that she was examining. “It’s time of mourning. We should pay your grandfather the respect that he’s due.”

Only Alysanne was old enough to understand but once she did, she hushed her sisters as well, or tried to. Alyssa sighed, rose, and relinquished the kitten in the name of maintaining decorum.

“What are you sewing?” Alysanne asked curiously and went over to inspect Aemma’s work. Aemma smiled and said she would be happy to show her.

Rhaenys stared at the pair of them, wondering if she had been exhibiting such interest at this age. She could vividly remember hating needles and threads but this could have been because lessons with maesters and attending her father as he held court had been considered far more important for a future queen. It always surprised her how much comfort Aemma drew from something that, to Rhaenys, felt like a chore. How could one like ruling and sewing at the same time?

A little later, Daemon entered without his usual clamour, although he normally had even more of this when he was swaying unsteadily, like he did now. His hair was in disarray, his eyes bloodshot. Aemma’s shoulders stiffened and she bent her head further down against her work. As her goodbrother passed her by, Rhaenys felt the stench about him – cheap wine and… and the other thing.

Surprisingly, Daemon headed straight for Aemma, cupped her chin and tilted her head up to look at her.  “Are you embroidering this for me?” he asked, glancing at the small piece of linen.

The direct sunlight cast Aemma’s features in plain view. Rhaenys wondered if he’d take notice of the pallor and sunken eyes. He could not possibly miss them from this close. But perhaps he was just accustomed to his lady wife looking like this when he was away, given to his… occupations.

To Rhaenys’ surprise, Aemma did not shake his hand away, did not gave a sharp retort to a question that, given the circumstances, was simply offensive. “Yes,” she said quietly and he nodded. Rhaenys could see how the discord arising from this last indiscretion was smothered right there.

“Are you going to take me to Dragonstone on Caraxes?” Aemma asked and by the surprise that briefly played across Daemon’s face, Rhaenys could say that this was not something that Aemma often asked about. All their joint rides had been initiated by Daemon.

“It will be my pleasure,” he finally said and Rhaenys could almost believe him. No, she did believe him. He just did not know the reason for Aemma’s sudden inclination to forgive and please him. It was not just because of his father’s death. It made Rhaenys ill to see how guilty Aemma was feeling, and grateful that she had not yet fallen to this level of despair. Not yet.

Of course, Viserys did not mind her flying Meleys on her own. He might not feel at ease with the lords in charge but he did not doubt his superiority over his lady wife. He did not need a dragon to prove it because he was… a man.

For a split second, she envied Daemon. She knew that Viserys would have made the gesture if it had only ever occurred to him that she might like it. The problem was, it had not.

 

 

Baelon the Brave, Prince of Dragonstone, went to the pyre in the presence of the entire court, under the music of dragons roaring from the dragon stables, and the weeping of peasant women. Looking at the islanders who watched the ceremony from afar, Rhaenys was painfully reminded of the horrible day of her mother’s funeral. Less stately, of course. More intimately and genuine. But the men and women of the island had stood in the same place and wept the same way. For a moment, she felt like Lady Jocelyn of House Baratheon, the genuine mistress who had personally done much for the islander, had never existed, been forgotten in favour of a prince who had only lived at Dragonstone briefly for the last years. That was how replaceable people were… and how important it was to have people who knew and remembered you. She reached over and gave Viserys’ hand a squeeze, like he had done for her at King’s Landing years ago. She remembered the way she had kept her fist clenched all the time and sought for any tension in his hand. To her relief, she felt none. She bowed her head under the mourning veil, felt the harsh onrush of the wind racing from the Dragonmount, and was surprised to feel a twinge of loss. _He was my ally_ , she thought. _In spite of everything._ Baelon had never wanted another gooddaughter and had made it clear to everyone. Now, she only had Viserys’ affection to rely to, in the face of a man who had been considered a worthy opponent of Baelon himself. She stole a look at her aunt and goodmother but Alyssa, shrunken all of a sudden, was staring straight at the fire. No, Rhaenys could not rely on her.

 _At least no one is whispering about Grandfather’s senility,_ Rhaenys tried to comfort herself. Even courtiers had some sense of decorum and wouldn’t open the shop of rumours here, at the funeral. Later, though… The King’s absence had already made many raise their brows. _Or perhaps I should be glad that they whisper about it,_ Rhaenys thought cynically. _Perhaps it’s going to do me and the girls good if it comes out into the open that Ser Otto and his daughter are making use of someone not in control of their mind already._

The flames burned higher. Rhaenys stood by, watched, and thought with some detachment that had not been present at her own father’s symbolic funeral that she was becoming more of a Targaryen every day – cynical and looking for her own advantage at every situation.

 

 

“I’m going to leave, you know,” Alyssa suddenly said late at night when the two of them and Aemma were sitting in her chambers holding goblets – the two young women barely sipping from their first while Alyssa had just downed her third. Her third since they had come, that was it.

Rhaenys was genuinely surprised. “Why?” she asked. “We aren’t going to live here, you know,” she added.

Her goodmother’s eyes were suddenly trained on her and as lucid as any sober person’s would be. “I know,” she said. “And I intend to help you remove this presuming Hightower girl from your grandfather’s bedchamber.”

Rhaenys was stunned. “But he thinks she’s his daughter…” she started.

“He might think so,” Alyssa agreed. “But I _am_ his daughter. She isn’t going to get a parchment with his signature and seal on it proclaiming her father his new Hand, I assure you. Ser Otto does not have the claim. My sons have the claim, for they’re blood of the dragon and Ser Otto would _never_ have this flowing through his grandchildren’s veins.”

The change in her was such that her nieces looked at each other, amazed. They had never thought she was even able to think that such a plan was possible. Alyssa had been… well, she had been the lady wife.

“Oh, stop looking at me like this!” Alyssa snapped. “I am not stupid, you know. Just because I was brought up to be the good wife and nothing more, it doesn’t mean that I am less capable of thinking in other areas.”

This sounded so close to Rhaenys’ thoughts that she blushed. Now, she and Aemma carefully avoided to look at each other.

“All those years, I’ve been silent because we needed to present the image of sibling marriage as the unity of the Targaryens symbolized,” Alyssa went on. “But he’s dead now. I might miss him very much but he’s dead and I no longer need to adhere to the role our parents gave me when I was a babe in the cradle. By the Seven, do you have any idea how jealous I used to be of Aliandre of Dorne, a woman I had never met? Just as jealous as I was of Mirana Bar Emmon.”

Aemma and Rhaenys glanced at her. They had no wish to hear about this but they could not stop her from talking because she was clearly determined to say what she had in her mind. “You can’t tell me that you haven’t heard about this. This story kept the court entertained for months and years… It’s very simple indeed,” she explained as if they had expressed any doubt, and her voice became dry and somehow amused. “Aemon liked Jocelyn who liked Cedric who liked Alyssa who liked Corlys who did not like anyone – and then Mirana appeared and turned everyone’s life head down because even Baelon who had not liked anyone ever suddenly liked her.” She paused. “Once, I mocked him,” she said dreamily. “I asked him what did this cloak with the three dragons served him for if he could not…” Another pause. She poured herself another goblet and took a sip. “Now, where was I? Did I tell you that I was leaving?”

All of a sudden, a horrible thought occurred to Rhaenys. A shocking memory. At her father’s funeral, her grandfather had first exhibited the feebleness of mind that now ruled him. She almost bolted from her seat to shake her aunt and ask if she was thinking.

“Perhaps a joint rule…” she said thoughtfully when Alyssa suddenly went to sleep. “I’m going to suggest it to Viserys. It might pave the way for Alysanne being recognized as the Princess of Dragonstone.”

“When? And what’s going to happen if you have a son later?” Aemma asked reasonably but behind this reason, Rhaenys heard a touch of fear an echo of her own untowardly thoughts from before. _Our dragon might be three-headed but we Targaryens are all double-faced, always looking for our own advantage first, no matter how much we love someone,_ she thought. _Even those who only have the name by blood and marriage._

She already knew that if she was about to pursue this course of action, it would be smart not to rely on Aemma’s help too much.


	10. Chapter 10

Winter blew fierce winds and white death that opened hundreds of graves near the city walls. Rhaenys shivered with cold even in her best furs as she walked the halls of the Red Keep and even more as she sat in the main chambers of the charities she was responsible for. The fires never seemed to be hot enough. In fact, they were simply not big enough – most fireplaces were too small to warm the dozens of poor, homeless, desperate souls looking for shelter. Rhaenys was surprised that her grandmother had not thought about this – she had always thought Alysanne perfect in everything she did.

“I’ll add some more buildings to this house,” she promised the woman who was in charge of the biggest orphanage. “Very soon. The winter can last three years or even more and we can’t have the children freeze here.”

Each time she saw these poor little soul made her grateful for being Rhaenys Targaryen, the queen in waiting. Her own children would never starve, never freeze with cold, never tremble with fear. And this made her even more diligent in her duties to these unfortunate children of the realm.

Every day in the poor streets, she saw someone being carted off to the cemeteries. She supposed she should be grateful that these so numerous deaths were not due to a plague, at least, but it was a scarce comfort.

“Did the maesters tell you when this winter is expected to end?” the housekeeper asked her in a low voice.

Rhaenys shook her head. “No, Mistress Elyna, I have no idea.”

The winter in the realm seemed fated to never end and so was the winter in Rhaenys’ life. 

 

* * *

 

She had postponed the conversation a few times already. More than a few, in fact, although she did not want to admit it. So many times she had braced herself, armoured her soul, pored over the exact words that she would say – and then, in the evening, when Viserys entered her chambers, weary, disheartened and still grieving, her determination wavered. _I’ll tell him tomorrow_ , she would think and then do her best to make him relaxed and calm, only speaking about things that made him feel good and not harangued and pressured, yet every day that passed without her bringing the issue, she made the rift that would follow almost inevitably even worse.

“It feels strange to think that public mourning gives us the chance to be a proper family for a prolonged period of time,” Viserys said one night after they had supped in their chambers and the nursemaids had taken the girls to bed.

“It is,” she agreed, thinking that now, when the official period of mourning was nearing its end, they would lose the simple intimacy of being just the two of them and the children. Evening feasts were not something they could not go to and their duties kept them busy for so long that soon, they would only be together after the feast, engaged with the most important duty of all…

“Viserys, we need to talk,” she said abruptly, desperate go get it done and then stop thinking about it, just relish the last few evenings she would have with him for a long time.

He sighed and gave her a look of utter tiredness, leaving his goblet of Arbor gold at the small table nearby. “Then, I suppose we will,” he said. “What do you want to talk about?”

“The succession,” Rhaenys said. “Let’s face it, Viserys, we may never have a son.”

Perhaps there had been just one chance for them and this chance had been bled on the steps of the Iron Throne… She pushed this thought away.

“We will,” he said but in his eyes, Rhaenys saw the same flicker of uncertainty.

“But what if we don’t?” she insisted. “A son and heir. You must have this.”

There it was, in the way he averted his eyes not to meet hers. Someone had been talking to him again. Trying to persuade him that if he fathered a bastard on a woman highborn enough, it would give him the heir he needed? Rhaenys did not want to even think about a second wife.

“We gave a daughter and heir and this is enough for me,” he said.

For a moment, Rhaenys was overwhelmed by a fierce desire to believe him. He believed his own words, she could say this much. She wanted to put an end to this conversation, take his hand, lead him to their bedchamber to talk, drink wine, and play one of the board games that they were so fond of. Perhaps tonight would be the night when he’d reach for her with passion once again when ever since his father’s death, all he had wanted of her had been her nearness. She did not want to lose what they had managed to build with so much effort.

“It was enough for my father as well and here is where we are today,” she said, the old bitterness creeping in her heart once again.

Viserys looked jaundiced. “Are we going to talk about this again?” he asked. “You know I was against it; you know I told them so. What do you want of me, Rhaenys? What do you want? Go to the urn with my dead father’s ashes to tell him once again how wrong he was? Is this going to make you feel better?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to sound like this. I’m just scared, Viserys, I’m scared for them. What if I die in childbirth and you take a new wife?”

He sighed before speaking in such a slow voice that he could be talking to the girls. “I promise you that no matter how many mistresses and wives I end up having – and mind you, if I end up seeking another woman, it will be because of our quarrels and not out of some ridiculous desire to father a son to the first woman I see, no matter how much you believe it – I promise you, Alysanne will be my heir. I will announce it publicly.”

Rhaenys had also been proclaimed her father’s heir publicly… She did not say it but he knew what she thought anyway because he flushed and asked angrily, “Very well then, what is going to make you happy?”

“A joint rule, officially,” Rhaenys replied, although she knew that she had no chance to convince him. No King had done it before, not Aegon, not even their grandfather – when they had both been in much better position to do it. And it wasn’t true. Not anymore. Not when the price was this renewed distrust and rivalry that she remembered from the first years of their marriage. But this was what she needed to do, for her daughters’ sake.

His shoulders slumped. He reached for the goblet once again. “So it has started eating at you once again,” he said. “Just when I thought…”

Suddenly, Rhaenys realized how meaningless all of this was. She would not change his mind. She would just increase the bitterness. She was spoiling one of the last nights she would have with him for a very long time. She rose and went to him, took the goblet from his hand, drank.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said. “Hold me.”

Just like she had expected, he took her to her word. This weakness, this desire to believe that conflicts could be avoided when they were merely delayed but at least he would not have to deal with them right now had long infuriated her, then saddened her, and now made her tender towards him. How strange!

“I’m tired,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”

He followed her and they stayed there holding each other for a very long time. Finally, Rhaenys snuggled even closer, placing her head under his chin. “I love you, you know.”

She felt how he went rigid with surprise. “You never told me this before.”

“I must have.”

He was silent.

“I never did?”

It felt like the most terrible act she had ever committed, even more than the one she was about to commit. She drew a little back and looked at him in the candlelight. “Let me show you, then.”

That night, she made love to him with abandon that she did not remember since those days when their marriage had first started looking like a possibility for happiness.

* * *

 

The clerk’s mouth was opening and closing like that of a fish. His disagreement was obvious even as he wrote the statement with his experienced hand over and over. Rhaenys personally placed her seal and felt kind of grim contentment as she watched the twenty-seven ravens leave. Once having made her decision, she was eager to get it done, have the horror pass and then try to salvage what was left. With a spring to her step, she headed over to Aemma’s chambers to hand her the last missive in person.

The crack of the seal sounded like doom to her.

Aemma raised wide eyes to her, crushing up the parchment in her hand. “You’re mad!” she whispered.

Rhaenys shrugged. “I suppose you may think so. I call it desperate.”

Aemma jumped from her chair and came close, still holding the parchment. “There is desperation and there is… this!” She was almost screaming. “Don’t tell me you expect them to take your side! They won’t! Not against Viserys, not now! You had a chance when you were the heiress of the heir but this is ten years later, just in case that you have not noticed! Now, they will see a rebellious wife, a grasping witch stabbing her husband in the back! You’ll never get enough support!”

Rhaenys was nodding, for these arguments were sound, reasonable, and in all likelihood would turn prophetic. Not that one needed prophecy for this – a little knowledge about Westeros and its lords was more than enough. But a tiny part of her still hoped… She was surprised.

“You’re entitled to think whatever you like,” she said when Aemma finally ran out of indignant words and started repeating herself. “There’s no going back now. I intend to fight my case from Dragonstone. Meleys can easily carry me between here and there. I already wrote to Aunt Alyssa. She’s going to come here and oversee the girls’ education.”

“So you aren’t going to take them with you?”

Rhaenys shook her head and stopped her lip from quivering. “I don’t want to make it look like I am taking a stance against Viserys,” she said. “I’m his wife and the children are his. I’m not taking them out of here to make it easier for them to be dismissed!”

At this, Aemma started laughing, incredulously. “Not taking a stance against Viserys?” she asked. “I’d say claiming his throne looks like taking a stance!”

“I didn’t ask what you’d say,” Rhaenys said coldly. “I’m simply telling you what’s going to happen. I’m leaving, Aunt Alyssa is coming. Where are you going to be?”

Aemma sighed. “With you,” she said, looking extremely displeased with this option.


End file.
